The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [6]
“First bit of luck I’ve had in my life,” said Emma. “Just wait until that Raisin female sees this!”
Agatha looked up hopefully as the door of the office opened, and her face fell when she saw Emma. And then she saw the cat carrier. “Good heavens! Is that Bertie?”
“Indeed it is.”
“Are you sure?”
“I found him in a field at the back of his home. I’ve checked with the photographs. I have a receipt for the carrier and I will need to buy cat food and a litter tray and litter.”
“Why on earth? I mean, phone the woman up and get her here.”
“Not a good idea.”
“May I remind you who’s boss here?”
“Listen. Would it not be better to wait until this evening? Don’t want to make it look too easy. Tell her we found Bertie wandering on the motorway and saved his life. Then I’ll phone the Mircester Journal and give them a cosy story about the new detective agency.”
Agatha, who had never been outclassed when it came to public relations before, felt a stab of jealousy. As Agatha never recognized jealousy in herself, she put it down to too much coffee.
“Very well,” she said gruffly.
“So I’ve got the job?”
“Yes.”
Emma smiled happily. “I’ll just get the necessary for the cat and then we can discuss my wages.”
The Mircester Journal knew that happy stories were what really sold the paper. After some discussion, Emma and Agatha decided to keep the cat in the office overnight, present it to Mrs. Evans first thing in the morning and make sure a reporter and photographer were present.
Emma could barely sleep. She had visions of Bertie dying in the night and of one of Mrs. Evans’s neighbours coming forward to say that she had seen a woman snatching the cat out of the field the day before.
But everything went amazingly smoothly. Agatha longed totake all the credit but could hardly claim any with Emma standing there. She felt quite sulky when the Mircester Journal used a photograph of Mrs. Evans, Emma and the cat, but did mention the new detective agency.
TWO
AFTER a week of working—or rather barely working—for Agatha, Emma could feel the little personality she had found for herself crumbling away bit by bit. Agatha was very much the boss. She had instructed Emma to prepare computer files for all the cases she hoped to get. Other than that, she barely spoke to her, and in the evening they went off in their respective cars to Carsely.
Agatha was cross that the first publicity for the new agency had given praise to Emma. The photographer had taken a photo of Agatha and she had worn her new power suit especially for the occasion, but that photograph had not been used.
Of course she told everyone in the village who asked that she was lucky to have “found” Emma. Only Mrs. Bloxby was not deceived.
Agatha had chosen an office in one of the old medieval lanes of central Mircester. It was situated above an antique shop. Now she wished she had gone for a cheaper place, perhaps out in the industrial estate. She felt tucked away and it was impossible for anyone to park outside.
After two weeks, Agatha felt she had good reason to sack Emma. It was silly to pay wages to a secretary who had no work to do.
She braced herself, looking truculently at Emma, who was immersed in a book. Agatha coughed. Emma looked up. She knew the chop was coming and her heart sank.
And then they both heard the voice of Dennis Burley, the antique dealer, saying, “Yes, go on right up. The agency’s on your right at the first landing.”
Both women looked at each other, momentarily bonded by hope.
A small man wearing a flat cap, a polo shirt and baggy flannels came in without knocking. His face seemed to be all nose, as if some godly hand had pulled his face forward at birth. A small toothbrush moustache lurked under its shadow.
“Please sit down,” cooed Agatha. “Tea or coffee?”
He cleared